It’s certainly a strange state of affairs, and one that I don’t believe anyone can truly comprehend. To simply stop existing is… eh… well, it’s a bit of a mind-fuck, to say the least. But it’s something that leaves us with no real choice in the situation. The only real certainty in life is that it will someday end. That sounds a bit shite to me. I quite enjoy being alive, and I don’t much fancy giving it up any time soon. Life has all of my favourite things in it- cheeseburgers, hot chicks, Heavy Metal, video games, and plenty of other things that I’d rather not part with. I’m a simple man with simple pleasures, and I doubt I’ll be enjoying any of these when I’m busy being devoured by a load of hungry-ass worms. Yip, it definitely sounds a bit shite.
It’s some of these aforementioned pleasures that I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with over the year. Case in point being video games. I’ve spent a great portion of my life collecting up a fair few video games. Actually, I’m surrounded by piles and piles of them right now. I can see all of my favourites, and also quite a few that would probably have been better off left on the store selves. An army of PS2 titles, taking cover walls of PS1 cases. A small but strong stack of older games lies next to these, featuring classics from the Snes/Megadrive era. To my left, a mess of uncased games from handheld systems. They may not have their original cardboard or plastic homes any more, but they often spend time living instead my DS or GBA within my pocket. The swarm of games for Xbox360 are still multiplying at an alarming rate, and I think they may someday take over the world. (You have been warned!) Other miscellaneous video game related crap seem to occupy any space that the actual games haven‘t claimed as their own territory. It’s sometimes hard to move in here without tripping over an old Playstation joypad… and in turn, finding a stack of Megadrive side-scrollers that I’d forgotten I had.
I remember getting a phone call from my mother a few months ago. We chatted about all the usual stuff that a mother and son with chat about. Whatever had happened that week, what kind of drama I was missing back home, which family member’s birthday was fast approaching (because, there’s also one). Ya know, just the usual chitchat. Somewhere within that conversation I mentioned how I was pumping a ridiculous amount of hours into a certain game. How I had almost finished it, and was really enjoying it. She didn’t seem even remotely surprised at how much time I’d spent on this game, as she was well used to much extended video game binges from back when I lived across the country. I made a tasteless joke about how a man of my age should probably have something better to be doing with his time. But my mother simply replied by saying that gaming was my life. After the conversation, her words ran around in my head for a while. At first, I was a little offended, thinking that I’m worth more than the disc I put into my Xbox’s tray. Then, I realised that she was damn right.
Gaming is indeed my life, or at least a huge part of it. I spend so much time with a controller in my hand, that it just feels so natural. When I’m not playing, I’m thinking about games, or talking about them. When I’m not playing purely for entertainment, I’m playing to improve my skills for tournaments. The hours I’ve put into trying to perfect the perfect combos, never felt like time wasted. If anything, it feels like progression. Gaming means more to me than I could ever explain. There’s something of a burning passion within me for this form of interactive fiction. Through the internet, I was lucky enough to meet some great people who share the same interest in video games. Every pint we bury, bad joke we make, or debate we have makes gaming even more worth while for me.
It’s strange to think that someday these games, and the memories attached to them, will no longer be mine. That when I finally hurricane kick the proverbial bucket, they will no longer have an owner. They’ll just become things. Things that used to belong to some gamer guy. Limited editions, rarities, and pure muck alike- they’ll all suddenly mean nothing. I can barely get my head around the idea that all these years spent collecting and playing won’t even be another person’s memory.
The truth is, I don’t even know what I’d want to happen to all these games after I die. Is there any point in any other family members keeping them? There are a few gamers in my family, but none would be old enough to remember the likes of Fortress of fear, so what use would they get from these games? I’d hate them to wind up forgotten about just because they were oldies. Of course, my family could make a nice few quid flogging them off on eBay like a pair of Brittany Spear’s knickers. This could be a good idea, but for some reason I can picture some guy buying them at reasonable prices, just to sell them on again for more cash. You know the type; those geeky Del-Boy motherfuckers. The same kinda heartless, cock-juggling thunder-cunts that buy tickets to sell-out shows for no other reason that to sell them on to real fans for extortionate prices. Perhaps a dedicated retro games store would be more appropriate. The kinda place that knows the worth of their merchandise. That way, my family and loved ones could get a little cash out of my games, the discs and cartridges themselves find a good home, some gamer who’s spent the last ten years searching for a copy of the special edition Silent Hill 2 will finally get his wish, everyone winds up happy… and I won’t have to haunt anyone’s copy of Majora’s Mask.
The more I think about it, the less I know. I guess there’s no guarantee of what will happen to the collection that I’ve spent my whole life putting together. Regardless of what I say I might want done with them, it’ll no longer be in my hands. To anyone else, these material things might simply be cannon fodder; things that you can simply throw out, because they’d be of no more use, but best of luck chucking an entire fucking arcade machine in the bin! When I do inevitably die, Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones rings out at the funeral, the dust settles, and I simply become other people’s memories; it’ll be up to my family, friends, and loved ones to deal with my possessions. I trust these people, and hope that they’ll honour my wishes on the situation. But the truth is; right now, I don’t even know what I’d like to see happen. All I know is that I’d hate to see these games simply go to waste. If anyone could even get a fraction of the joy that I got from them, then they should find a good home. Usually, I’d conclude by saying that it’s Future Spud’s problem, and that I’ll find out what will happen some day, but the truth is- I won’t.